Closest Friend, Worst Enemy
by Ceceiscritical
Summary: Devenia Batista seems to have a great life. She is married to a handsome, high profile athlete, has a beautiful, bright son, and she also is the finest example of the trophy wife. Seems so, but only if the walls of the Batista household could talk.


NOTE: This is a work of FICTION. I do not know the true personality of Dave Batista, as I only use his character in the story.

"Closest Friend, Worst Enemy"

Alone. Afraid. Scared. Petrified; petrified enough that sometimes she just sits in the corner, curled in a ball, hoping that he will leave her alone; her mascara draining down her cheeks. He'd never hit her hard enough to bruise her, only to hurt her. Her coffee-brown irises are surrounded by the reddened whites of her orbs, wide opened, watching his every move. He walks about the bedroom, patting his sweat-laced forehead. She is forced to sit there, after they have an altercation. Of course, he had the upper hand, he's 6'4" and she's only 5'3". She is supposed to love, honor, and cherish this man, why is she so afraid of him?

"W. . .wh. .why are you doing this to me?" she asked weakly.

He glared at her from across the room. Her lips trembled, her hands quivered, her face was covered with the salty water of her tears, and she flinched when he threw the vase up against the wall beside her. It made a thunderous thud in her ear. She was surprised the object didn't hit her, like last time.

"I told you specifically not to talk to the press while we were there at the conference, did I not?" he shouted at her.

"I. . .I didn't say anything bad about you Dave honey," She told him, hoping that would get through to him.

This angered him, and he stomped closer to the woman on the floor in the corner of the room. He bent over, and grabbed the front of her shirt, lifting her off the ground, and pinning her against the mute wall. Only if they could talk, then maybe someone could help this poor woman.

"I don't give a damn what you said! I told you not to talk to the press!" he shouted in her face.

She squinted her eyes and turned her head, smelling the whiskey on his breath. She knew that he wasn't drunk, she just wanted it to be an excuse for why he would torture her like this.

He gripped her a bit tighter.

"What, are you deaf? You must be, because you can't seem to listen!" he yelled in her ear.

"I'm sorry Dave, I'm sorry, please, just don't hurt me anymore," she begged.

Her eyes were always the windows to her emotions. He could see her terror, her pain, her suffering... and he loved every minute of it.

"Oh, poor baby doesn't want to get hurt anymore," he scoffed.

He grabbed her, and carried her over to the bed. She knew what was coming, and she dreaded it. She kicked and wriggled, her arms flailing, trying to break free from the clutches of the monster. She was too petite, too small, and he was too insurmountable.

"Stop! Dave. . . NO! Please baby, I'm sorry, I won't ever do it again I promise, just please, NO!" Deven pleaded.

He slammed her on the bed, and then used his weight to smother her, keeping her pressed to the soft mattress. Any other night, maybe even if the mood was different, this action would be more acceptable.

"Oh, stop, please NO Dave... SHUT UP!" he mocked her, laughing maniacally.

"Why don't you just quit fighting me, you know I'm gonna get what I want. Now, since you're so sorry, I want you to show me how sorry you are," Dave ordered.

His eyes were unreadable, evil, sadistic. He pulled up off of her, and she quickly sprang up, standing on her knees, slowly retreating, silently plotting to sprint to the door, and out of this paradoxical life. It was as if she was teeter-tottering from Fairy Tales to Night Terrors. Her long-sleeved silk shirt was torn, three of the silver buttons missing. One of her Stiletto heels were broken. Her undergarments were clearly visible, her lacy blue bra and matching underwear were showing. Dave's favorite color is blue, and she had decided to adorn herself in those colors to welcome him home. Her shoulder-length black hair was covering part of her face; her red lipstick was smeared, and her mascara trailed down her caramel cheeks amidst the warm tears that streamed down from her wide, almond-shaped brown eyes. At one time, maybe 30 minutes ago, she was like a beautiful Ethiopian goddess, waiting for her love. Now, she looks like a battered hooker, waiting for her pimp to save her.

He takes out his frustration and sorrow on her, hitting her, beating her, cursing her in fits of blind rage, then he retreats, and leaves. Usually the next day, he would shower her with gifts and one time, he bought her a Benz just to keep her there. He would beg for forgiveness, and promise it would never happen again. She would believe him, and embrace the man. He would take her in his strong arms, and when he feels her soft hair brush his shoulder, her hands touch his shoulder blades, he would snarl silently and a sinful grin appears on his face. It's like he is possessed by demons.

"How about... you take off that shirt and lie down on the bed Deven," he commanded in that deep, baritone voice.

She hesitated and unbuttoned the rest of her blouse.

"Yeah, that's good sweetie," he growled.

He enjoyed watching her. He didn't want to hurt her, degrade her, but he had to show her who's boss. He didn't want Deven disobeying him, especially in front of the kids. Want to know why she is partially deaf in one ear? Well, she had defied Dave in front of the kids. Let's say that when the kids were sleeping, all hell broke loose. Truly, he did not enjoy hurting her, he just enjoyed punishing her when she was "disobedient".

She had enough of this, she was not going to sit there and let him degrade her like this. She thought of running to a neighbor's house, even though their houses... er, big houses were greatly spaced out. Everyone had the circle driveway and fancy gates. Just perfect. She had no chance in hell of escaping to a neighbor's house and pleading for help, so she decided to run for the door and press the emergency button on the security system keypad.

"_Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do,_" she thought to herself. She sprang off the bed and ran for the door. The fact that her heel was broken on one of the shoes made running more complicated.

Dave became alarmed at her scrambling for the door, he sprang up and chased her.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he scowled as he caught her by her silver, silk shirt.

"NO!! LET ME GO!" she screamed.

In one fell swoop, he tackled her, nearly knocking the wind out of her, and her head collided with the slate stone floor, knocking her out.

When she came to, she wearily looked about, and didn't spot her 'loving' husband anywhere. She wondered how she managed to get in the hallway. Did her husband drag her out there?

She rose, and kicked off her heels. She walked over to the door, and tried to open it to get into their bedroom. She had difficulty opening it, as it seemed the hinges were stuck. As she tried to open the door, she heard sobbing. The soft cry was child-like, and it alarmed her... What is their child doing in there?

"Aiden? Are you okay in there? What's wrong baby?" she asked, pressing her head against the door.

"Mom?" Aiden, Dave and Deven's son replied.

"It's me, don't be scared, please, let me in, it's okay sweetie," Deven tried to negotiate with her son.

"I can't," he whined.

"Why not?" Deven asked, becoming slightly annoyed and impatient.

It took him a while to answer.

"I did something bad, and you're gonna be mad at me," he told her, starting to cry again.

"What did you do Aiden? Where's your father?" she asked, becoming worried.

There was no answer. She began to push on the door, hoping to open it. She glanced down in the small crack, and noticed Dave's ivory-olive hand lying lifelessly on the grey slate floor.

"Oh my God!" she desperately screamed.

She managed to push the door in and saw her husband lying motionless on the slate floor. She looked at her son's blank facial expression, and saw him holding his Father's sparsely-bloodied head.

She rushed to call 911, when she heard her son speak.

"He won't hurt you anymore Mommy," he told her in a weak voice, "You said you'd hurt anyone who hurts us, so I said I was gonna hurt whoever hurts you."

Deven couldn't do anything. Dave was knocked out cold. She finally snapped back into reality, and knelt beside her husband. She checked for his pulse, there was one, but no response from him. She looked at her innocent son, and took him in her arms. They called the Police, and said that Aiden thought Dave was an intruder. A few hours later, Dave reached full recovery and was well again, just a bit of head trauma. He apologized, she accepted, and the cycle went on.

_The next day. . ._

Deven was at her husband's side, holding that same hand that she spotted lying on the floor. Even though he's still sleeping in this hospital bed, she couldn't help but have concern; he is her husband. Plenty of thoughts ran across her mind, some of them were bad. She couldn't bring herself to think about _that _incident yesterday. All the pain and suffering that took place yesterday, it was unfathomable, but, Deven wants to keep that pain down the drain. Tears began to well up in her eyes, feeling sorry for herself. Why can't she just get up and leave? Is it the money? No, she's been with Dave long before he became a high-profile wrestler. Is it the fame? No, she doesn't care about his notoriety; she can do without thinking about all the females that would eat the dirt he trudged on. Is it the good sex? Could be, this guy could do things that would make the Kama-Sutra look like a "One-Step Guide to Sitting Down". She thought about it, and it's more than the way he made love. It's how he expressed his love, through holding, touching, speaking, looking, smiling. She felt safe with him. She actually felt a deep, unconditional love for him. Maybe that is what it is. She looked at the man resting in the bed. His square jaw-line, his thin, soft lips, his long eyelashes. She was startled when he began to stir.

"Honey?" she said as his eyes fluttered open.

He looked up at her, his ignorantly loving wife. He instantly smiled, his trademark dimples deepening in his cheeks. His kind, ebony eyes locked with Deven's.

"You okay?" She asked, smiling dearly at Dave.

She grazed her finger through his short, black, wavy hair. He loved that touch, and he hated it at the same time. He doesn't deserve her, and he knows this, and it kills him.

"Yeah, just a little headache is all," he said, smiling slightly.

It stung him, this torture. Deven was torturing him with her smile, quiet words, feathery touch. He couldn't take it anymore. His eyebrows tightened, and he squeezed his eyes.

"Why you do this?" he mustered up enough courage to question.

"Do what baby?" she asked, her face frowning with worry.

"Why do you always. . ._ love me_?"

He tried to fight and keep down the painful lump in his throat.

"I don't know why you stay here. It hurts me so much to look at you after I hurt you."

These words bore a hole in the thin line separating her fantasy from the reality. He's never said anything like this before.

"You just take everything, all of my bullshit, and I can't understand why."

Dave's eyes became misty, as he still tried to hold in the lump in his throat.

"It's because I love you Dave. I try to put up with this, hoping it would stop, but, no matter how hard I try, I can't take it much longer," she replied, biting her lips, her eyes spilling their rain.

"I love you too, I just, have a problem. Please, I'm begging you, help me help myself," Dave said, his deep voice quivering with sorrow.

Deven was silent, she couldn't even look at Dave. She was filled with disbelief. She couldn't believe what he was saying. He finally admitted he had a problem. She smiled.

"Oh, I'll help you honey, that's what I'm here for baby," she said, bending over to give him a hug.

"Thank you, you don't know how much you mean to me," Dave told her. He then grinned, just like he did every time she forgives him, making this the fifth time.

_The next month. . ._

"Dammit! If I wanted eggs scrambled, I would have said that, now wouldn't I?!" Dave shouted at Deven, threatening her with the fork.

He backed her up against the wall, and aimed the sharp edges of the fork at her throat. She almost stopped breathing, from being horrified. She was stagnant, frozen. Her mouth motioned to speak, but nothing came out. He then harshly kneed her in the gut, causing her to bleat and cringe, holding her stomach.

"Answer me!" he commanded.

Instead of answering, she coughed, and fell to her knees. She then thought of something.

Those few seconds progressed, and she looked at her son, jaw nearly hanging on the table, looking at his father hit his mother. Dave crossed the line. She didn't want her son to see her get beat up again, not if she could help it. She acted upon instinct, and low-blowed him, fisting him in his crotch.

"Ohhhh!" he yelled, and grabbed his privates for comfort, and fell to his knees.

While this was all happening, Aiden looked on, shocked, scared to say something. Deven stood up, and stared down at her husband.

"How you like that huh?" Deven said before using her heavily-adorned hand to back slap him.

The rings on her hand, including that million-dollar platinum and purple diamond wedding ring, scraped his olive cheek, drawing blood. He hissed from the sting. His head turned away and he muttered something.

"_...oh hell no..._" he muttered. The look in his eyes when he glanced back at Deven could have made Satan himself shake in his fire-proof boots. Aiden caught a glimpse of his father's usually handsome face, and was petrified, so much that he ran into the other room.

"Yeah, run Aiden, Daddy doesn't want you to see this," Dave yelled at Aiden, who was already running up the steps.

Dave then fixed his eyes on Deven. He stood up, towering over her. He started smiling at her, that sadistic smile.

"I didn't think you'd have the balls to hit me, sweetheart," Dave told her, reaching up to play with one of her curls.

She just looked at him with disgust.

"But I must say, wow," he said, feigning admiration for her black tresses.

Deven shoved him quite hard, surprising him. As an almost reflex, he wrapped his large hands around her neck, and lifted her and slammed her on the table, choking her. Again, she kicked and clawed at the hand clasping her neck. His knuckles whitened as he tightened the grip, making it impossible to breathe.

"You bitch! Don't EVER hit me, or else I'll kill you, you hear!?" he growled intensely.

She gagged and shook her head, hoping that would help her breathe.

"'Til death do us part Devenia," he told her, watching her eyes bulge and redden.

Her vision became blurry, and if he doesn't let up, she knows she's gonna black out.

He leaned over, and kissed her on her forehead, signaling "goodbye" on his part. Ooh, the sick son-of-a-bitch.

All kinds of thoughts ran through her head at that time. Sort of like a flashback so to speak. She began to see the good times, that took place not too long ago. She could see the blissful expression on Dave's face when she told him that they would parent a child, the look of utter joy when she accepted his proposal, and when she said "yes". While she had this flashback, something startled her. The grip on her neck was broken, and she inhaled deeply, enjoying the ability to breathe again.

"Aiden! Put the gu. . ." Dave stopped abruptly while several deafening bangs filled the room. He fell backward, his soul falling into oblivion. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, while his blue shirt quickly became soaked with crimson blood. No one made a sound. Deven was elated that her Night Terror was over, but why did she still feel alone? Afraid? Scared? Petrified?


End file.
